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Show WlS-tyZ. AT PRATT W.N. U. RELEASE v " TnE STORY THUS FAR: Forty-lour-fear-old Wilbcrt Winkle, who operates ft repair shop In the alley back of his home, Is notified by his draft board that he Is In 1-A. He breaks the bad news to his domineering wife, Amy, who becomes luddenly tender. Mr. Winkle is sent to Camp Squibb, where, after graduating from Motor Mechanics school, he leaves Tor home on a. furlough. Amy hardly knows him, and his dog barks at him furiously. Mr. Winkle and his friend, Mr. Tinker, sbon find themselves on the high seas In a huge convoy. They land on die island of Talizo and report at one of the repair shops. Some of their friends are also on the Island. There is a bad mist, that might screen Japs. CHAPTER XII Mr. Winkle pulled his steel helmet more securely on his head and pressed on the accelerator of the car. The Jeep shot oft the road and along the sand trail leading to the beach. The command car stood where it had be'en left, in a partially cleared space enclosed by low palms. Mr. Winkle stopped alongside along-side it. As they got out, he glanced at the tent, set at one side among the trees. Ordinarily, the off-duty members of the machine-gun crew would be lolling loll-ing or sleeping there. It was empty. Up on the low ridge, fifty feet away," a helmeted head appeared above the sand. It was the Alpha- the plane had gone again, out over the ocean, that Mr. Tinker's arms dropped and the rifle slid from his hands. His voice choked and gurgled when he called, "Pop . . . Hey Pop . . ." Then he crumpled, like something stiff gone soft, folding up and sinking sink-ing to the ground. Mr. Winkle, watching this from beneath the command car, couldn't believe at first that it was actual. It had happened too quickly, too much without warning to b9 any different from field tactics In which picked men simulated those hit when the planes came over. Then he realized that the plane hadn't been a friendly one. He crawled out from beneath the car and got to his feet. His legs seemed to function automatically, without any volition on his part, as he made his way to Mr. Tinker. The blood spreading over Mr. Tinker's chest made him sick and weak. He bent and touched him, whispering his name. But Mr. Tinker Tink-er didn t answer. Mr. Winkle realized something else. When the plane went over the second time the Alphabet's machine gun hadn't fired. From the fox hole now there came no movement. All about there was silence. He ran to the ridge. He arrived breathing hard, not from exertion, but from excitement. He gasped at made him sure he would be good enough. The first boat was nearly at the shore. Mr. Winkle sighted the gun for the spot he figured the men would be when they stepped out. That was what he had been taught. He still had a moment. He employed em-ployed it by coolly taking off his glasses and wiping them dry with his handkerchief. He wiped his face and neck, both of which streamed with sweat. He glanced about. This was where he would die. He had often wondered in what circumstances and in what locality it would occur. Now he knew. It wasn't such a bad place. He saw it almost for the first time, the waving wav-ing palm trees, the flowering hibiscus. hibis-cus. He liked it. It was romantic. Amy, he thought, would be glad to know it was such an attractive place. It occurred to him that for the first time in his life he wasn't afraid to die. He even exulted in it. He heard his voice. He was laughing. He felt released from hard, painful bonds. He knew that, at last, Wil-bert Wil-bert George Winkle, in the flesh and not in a newspaper headline, was proud to fight. He turned back to the gun. It was nearly time. The assault boat beached in shallow shal-low water. Men started jumping out and splashing through the water. wa-ter. He could see their faces, brown, slant-eyed, expressionless. Mr. Winkle Win-kle let them all get out. Then, carefully care-fully sighting, he squeezed the trigger. trig-ger. There was a snap and a jerk. The gun jammed without firing. Frantically, he worked at the gun. One finger caught in the mechanism. mecha-nism. He tore it away. Blood spurted, but he paid no attention. He kept picking at the jammed cartridge. Finally he got it out. and a new one in the firing chamber, the gun prepared properly. Five men had run ahead, off to one side. Mr. Winkle swung his gun around, concentrating on them first. This time the gun fired. He was astonished to see the men fall. He wasn't sure if one of them got away. He swung the gun back, spitting vengeance at the larger group. As the bullets spat out from under his hands, a still new and greater world opened before him. This was what he had lived for. Life had a meaning and a purpose of which he had never dreamed. ' . ... what he saw. One of the shells rom the plane's cannon had exploded in the fox hole. The bodies of the men lay about, some of them half buried. Freddie was sprawled over the gun, as if protecting it. Sergeant Czeideskrow-ski Czeideskrow-ski was on his back, his open eyes staring straight up at the burning sun and not blinking. In a tangled pile, Mr. Winkle caught sight of the side of Jack's still face. A single thought ran through him repetitiously. How will I ever tell the Pettigrews? He asked himself. How will I ever tell the Pettigrews? The sound of surging water made him turn his head. Out of the mist had come a flat-nosed flat-nosed Japanese assault boat. Behind it, but somewhat off to either side, were two more. Mr. Winkle sank to his knees, both to get out of sight and because his legs wouldn't hold him up any more. After a moment, he knew that he must do something. He realized that the whole position on Talizo might be lost if tie men in those assault boats ever landed and infiltrated through the jungle. He found himself scrabbling about in the sand of the fox hole for the field phone. It wasn't in sight. He saw the Signal Corps wire leading lead-ing up out of the hole. He grabbed it, and started pulling on it. A broken piece . of the shattered phone came into his hands. He dropped it from nerveless fingers. fin-gers. Helplessly, Mr. Winkle watched the leading assault boat come on. Now it was less than a hundred yards from the beach. He looked back at the jeep. Unless Un-less the bullet holes through its windshield meant more than they appeared to, the car would still run. He could get back in it to give the alarm at the next post. But by that time, the Japs would have effected their landing. Mr. Winkle wished that it was not he who had been placed in this position. posi-tion. He wanted, fervently, for it to be another man, a fighter, a killer, a younger, a different, a better man than he. It flashed through his mind that it had been a mistake to draft and make a soldier out of a mouse. He felt guilty at not having resigned from the Army. A different man here now, in his place, would have known what to do. Then Mr. Winkle knew what to do. It occurred to him that he hadn't thought of himself, of his own safety, safe-ty, when considering getting away in the jeep. He had thought only to give the warning of what was happening. Also, he saw Mr. Tinker lying sprawled out there on the ground. He remembered how he had ducked under the command car whjle Mr. Tinker fired his rifle. The recollection recollec-tion made him feel craven, especially especial-ly when now Mr. Tinker would never nev-er get his Jap. He decided that he must get him for Mr. Tinker. There were the Alphabet, Freddie, Jack, and the other men to think about, too. It infuriated him that Sergeant Czeideskrowski lay dead. It made him see red to think that after Freddie had been made into a decent person, he had been killed. His brain seared with a hot flame at the thought of Jack. It seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to pull Freddie's body from the gun. Swiftly, he examined ex-amined it. The gun was intact. It needed only a new belt of ammunition. ammuni-tion. He clawed about in the sand and among the bodies for an ammunition box. He stepped on soft flesh and didn't mind it. Digging furiously, he found what he wanted. He stripped the nearly spent belt from the gun, and inserted in-serted a fresh one. As he worked he knew how good and wise it was that he had been j trained to operate a machine gun. He wished that he was better at it. But a rising surge of confidence The jeep shot off the road and along the sand trail. bet. Recognizing them, he waved briefly and then disappeared. "It ain't like him," Mr. Tinker observed, "not to be hospitable to his friends." Mr. Winkle took their tools from the back seat of the jeep. His hands shook a little. He pulled his helmet still more securely over his head and said, "We'd better get to work." "We can take a minute," Mr. Tinker said, "to see what's going on up there." Reluctantly. Mr. Winkle followed him to the ridge. They didn't receive a very warm welcome. "If you got to come here," Sergeant Czeideskrowski snapped, "get down in." They scrambled below ground level, lev-el, hunching themselves into the fox hole, crowding Freddie, Jack, and the other men who sat listening attentively at-tentively or kneeled to stare out over the ocean. Freddie, at the machine gun whose snout pointed across the beach, greeted them, "Maybe you're just in time for the performance." perform-ance." The Alphabet picked up the field telephone. He identified his post, listened for a moment and then said, "Yes, sir . . . No, sir, it hasn't lifted yet." He put the instrument down and told his visitors, "That was your boss. He wanted to know if you got here. Like you heard, I didn't give away you being with us, but you better get back where you belong and beat it as soon as you're through." They went, Mr. Winkle wtth alacrity alac-rity and Mr. Tinker with regret From out over the sea there came t sudden roar. Guns began to spit Virtually at the same instant. "Duckl" yelled Mr. Winkle. He dropped the wrench he was holding and dived under the command car. Lying there, his heart beating so fast it seemed to equal the rapid Bring of the guns, he expected Mr. Tinker to join him. Instead, he heard the quick firing of a Garand. He could see Mr. Tinker's feet and part of his legs, braced to take up the shock from the gun. The plane came over. It appeared to know exactly where to come. The firing stopped. Mr. Winkle opened his eyes. Again he saw Mr. Tinker, who i was now standing halfway to the ridge. He was reloading his rifle and looking malevolently at the sky. The plane came back. Once more it spit heavy death . from its nose, and lighter, more gen-' gen-' tie death from its wings. Mr. Tink-j Tink-j er fired right back at it. It was-i't until a moment after He sprayed the milling men down there. He had a mad, blind desire to annihilate an-nihilate and destroy the enemy. It seemed like a torrent pent up in him for years and spilling out in one overwhelming rush. He sprayed it on the milling men down there. That burst was for Jack. That one was for Freddie. This long one for Mr. Tinker. Now one for the Alphabet. Still more for the other men. Wilbert Winkle, who operates The Fixit Shop, first married mar-ried selectee in the 36 to 45 draft-age draft-age group to be called, is killing these enemies of his country. He is anxious to defend the four freedoms. It's worth any sacrifice, if need be, his very life. Wilbert Winkle wanted more enemies ene-mies to kill when all these were gone, when no one stood on his feet in the writhing, shrieking mass on the wet sand. He saw more at the approach of the other two boats. Quite calmly, without excitement of any kind, and not realizing he was following Army procedure painstakingly taught him, he inserted another fresh belt oi ammunition. Instinctively, as if something told him to, he looked behind him, over the edge of the fox hole. A Jap officer was stealing his j way toward him. He was the one : who had got away from the group j of five. The swarthy little man was i between the cars and the body ol Mr. Tinker. I Mr. Winkle grabbed the nearest J rifle. He swung it into position tc ' fire, resting it on the edge of the fox hole, i (TO BE CONTINUED) |